Percy Jackson and the Irrational Olympians
by Rationed Logic
Summary: Sally Jackson stayed single and went back to college to major in psychology. She keeps a lot of smelly garbage around. Percy pursued a distinguished academic career at Yancy Academy. He read his mythology textbook in one day - it was bearable. He also tutored Grover Underwood in math. Then he found out his true heritage. . . let's just say even the Fates didn't see this one coming.


- 12 Years Ago -

Immortality for a human was wonderful. There was always something new to do, someone new to meet, something new to see. And if there wasn't, you had all the time in the world to invent something new yourself.

This did not apply if you did not have opposable thumbs or were bound for eternity to a godly caduceus.

And if you were a snake named George or Martha, you got the worst of both worlds.

Their names hadn't always been George and Martha, of course. The ancient Greeks would not have worshipped a powerful symbol, no matter what it did, if it was named George. Neither would modern humans have worshipped something named φίδι. They just wouldn't.

So it was necessary for their names to change. The Mist did it for them, of course. It handled everything in the Modernization Department. How it did it without being clearly sentient was not their job to question. George and Martha were happy with their names, since there was nothing they could do about them. If Zeus decided he would thereby be known as He-God by the power of the Master Bolt, Hera would chuckle and say,_ Snap out of it, Zeus_.

Their names hardly mattered to them, anyway. They only were mentioned by name when they were introduced to new acquaintances, usually demigods who would meet them once or twice and then die. George and Marta had wondered dully if they'd ever meet a demigod with the same name as themselves.

_Maybe he'd be more inclined to find me a rat, _George had said, and that had been the end of the discussion.

Rats did fill their thoughts often, when they were not sending or receiving messages for the Messenger God. Once, they'd sent their own text to Hermes, claiming to be Zeus, advising him to be loving and generous to those who helped him. They'd prided themselves on their cleverness.

Hermes had turned his caduceus into a cattle prod. And he'd somehow shocked them with it, _even though they formed the handle, not the electrodes. _George and Martha had then resolved not tamper with the Messenger God's inbox, even to get rats.

Today was not a day for dwelling on their tiny stomachs, however. Today was a busy day – packages to deliver, emails to forward, and calls to screen. The twin snakes worked wordlessly, processing each communication automatically. And for that reason, they didn't read the full text of an email marked URGENT. The proper code had been pasted into the subject bar, telling them that it really was an urgent message from a reliable source. They simply passed it on to Hermes's personal inbox. Then they continued scanning through the hundreds of Olympic communications.

Let the important fact here be repeated: they did not read the email marked URGENT, which had a Priority Level 1 emergency code attached to it.

Hermes, of course, read it. And raised his eyebrows. And reread it. And frowned. And sighed helplessly, and turned to the fountain that gurgled continuously by his desk. Snapping his fingers to conjure up a thick mist, and snapping them again to raise the blinds on his window, so the bright Manhattan sun shown into his office, he turned to the fountain and snapped,

"O Iris, Goddess of the Rainbow, show me Lord Zeus."

There was silence for a moment, then:

"Processing request. Voice authentication, confirmed: Hermes. Request processed." Iris didn't try extorting money from gods higher on the food chain then herself.

The mist cleared to display the Olympian throne room, where Zeus, the king of the gods, lounged upon his throne, alone in the room. He looked up when he saw the smoke over the Hearth solidify and become opaque.

"Hermes! What is it?" He bellowed, though not unkindly.

"An urgent situation has arisen, my lord," Hermes said humbly, then proceeded to explain at length about the situation. As he talked on, the frown on Zeus's face grew from its natural slight upturn to the deep mark of someone seriously unhappy.

"We'll see about this!" he bellowed again, this time very unkindly. "I shall take care of it immediately!" The Iris message dissolved, it's last image of Zeus's face, purple with anger.

Hermes sighed, knowing that the situation was now out of his hands, and sunk into his 12-foot-high swivel chair. He had more work to do, and precious little eternity to do it. He called up the next email onto his computer screen.

George and Martha continued to silently work, categorizing, labeling, and organizing. Their monotony might have been broken by a moment of sadness if they had read the message marked URGENT for themselves.

The message mentioned several times a half-blood, whom had years ago turned to the job of a mortal scientist. It also mentioned his current activities, and his current location. In particular, one of his activities was bolded and underlined. At the bottom of the email was a request for his immediate termination.

Reading the message would have saddened George and Martha very much.

The half-blood, Dr. Frederick Chase, was one of the few people who had ever given them a rat.

And he was about to meet his makers.


End file.
